


You're Not What You Thought You Were

by MercurialTenacity



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Gaping, Anal Plug, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Boot Worship, Card Games, Choking, Conditioning, Double Penetration, Drugged Sex, Drunk Sex, Face Slapping, Gangbang, Homophobia, Homophobic Language, Humiliation, Impotence, Insults, Internalized Homophobia, Kneeling, M/M, Mind Break, Minor Injuries, Non-Consensual Body Modification, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Objectification, Orgasm Control, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Panic Attacks, Prostate Massage, Rape, Subspace, Verbal Humiliation, Vulnerability, Watersports, Young Percival Graves, boot licking, soft cock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-26
Updated: 2018-02-06
Packaged: 2019-03-09 19:29:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13488246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MercurialTenacity/pseuds/MercurialTenacity
Summary: Percival Graves was a problem.  They all knew it - ever since he’d joined the department as a Junior Auror he’d been making their lives hell with his very presence.  It wasn’t that he had confidence; you had to have confidence to be an auror or you didn’t make it in the door.  And it wasn’t that his name was Graves; there were plenty from the Graves family who were great men, real decent people.  No, it was that he was an insufferable little brat who acted like he owned the department at the grand age of twenty one simply because his name made him MACUSA’s golden boy and no one had ever dared put him in his fucking place.Or at least, that’s how Johnson put it to the rest of the Senior Aurors one evening.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kallistob](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kallistob/gifts).



> Eternal thanks to kallistob for keeping me motivated and moving forward on this fic <3

Percival Graves was a problem.  They all knew it - ever since he’d joined the department as a Junior Auror he’d been making their lives hell with his very presence.  It wasn’t that he had confidence; you had to have confidence to be an auror or you didn’t make it in the door.  And it wasn’t that his name was Graves; there were plenty from the Graves family who were great men, real decent people.  No, it was that he was an insufferable little brat who acted like he owned the department at the grand age of twenty one simply because his name made him MACUSA’s golden boy and no one had ever dared put him in his fucking place.

Or at least, that’s how Johnson put it to the rest of the Senior Aurors one evening.

The bottle of brandy they were passing back and forth probably helped get the conversation flowing, but it had really only been a matter of time.  There was only so long they could put up with it.

“Yeah, an’ so what?  It ain’t a secret, Johnson,” O’Connell says.  “The kid’s a twat.”

Johnson makes a disgruntled growl over the rim of the bottle.  “Fuckin’ tired of it.”

“Show him who the fuck’s in charge,” Morelli says, reaching over to grab the bottle and scowling when Johnson pulls it away.

“And how’re you gonna do that?” O’Connell retorts.  “Can’t tell him a damn thing, he just turns his nose up and looks at you like you’re dirt.”

“You remember how he almost ruined the Montague investigation last month?  I chewed him out to the Director himself and he  _ still _ walked away without a reprimand.  Six months planning that shit, and thanks to him it almost went down the drain.”

The room fills with general mumbles of agreement, atmosphere heavy with discontent, when Burnett leans in from the corner.

“Heard he was a fag.”

The room quiets, eyes turning towards him.  Morelli scoffs.

“I’d believe it.”

“Fuckin’ fag, it figures”

Johnson’s eyes narrow.  “And?”

“I’m just sayin’.”  Burnett shrugs.  “What if we give him what he wants?  A hole’s a fucking hole.  Get him all nice and drugged up and he’ll do anything we want.”

“Or drunk.”

“Or both.”

“Y’know…” O’Connell says slowly, “he’s been whining for an invite to the card game.”

Johnson grins, draining the last of the bottle.  “Maybe it’s time he gets what he wants.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Find me at [mercurial-tenacity.tumblr.com](http://mercurial-tenacity.tumblr.com)!


	2. Chapter 2

Percival feels a slight tingle of nerves as he sits down at the card table.  He's not oblivious - he knows he's not the most popular among the senior aurors, though he hasn't been able to figure out why.  He does everything he can to be useful in the field, and at the office too, he always tries to be the one with answers.  If he just proves to them that he knows what he’s doing they’ll see that he was meant to be an auror.

He hopes being invited tonight is a sign that they're finally starting to accept him.  He’s tired of being treated like all the rest of the rookies when he knows he can do more.  This is his chance to impress them, to prove he really belongs here and can be something.  He can be one of them, he knows it.  He has the talent, the skill, and the determination, if only they would give him a chance to use it.  After tonight, maybe he can finally earn their approval.

His heart had beat so fast when Johnson invited him.

Burnett hands him a drink, and Percival takes it with a nod as Johnson deals.

He doesn't notice the smirks Johnson and O’Connell exchange as he takes his first swallow, nor that Burnett makes a point of always keeping his glass full.

They're only a half hour in when his vision starts to swim.  Percival blinks, then rubs his hand over his eyes as the clubs and spades he’s holding blur together.

Johnson clears his throat.

“You alright kid?” Morelli asks him over the rim of his glass.

“Yeah, I… ‘M fine.”  He smarts a little at the nickname, but his head is too fuzzy to really focus on it.  He struggles to pull himself together.  Whatever’s happening, it’ll pass.  He can’t make a fool of himself  _ now, _ not when they’re all watching, not when he’s just finally gotten his chance.

“Then place your bid, quit holding up the game.”

“Sorry, I just… uhh…”  Percival looks at his cards again, and they don't make sense.

“Christ, it's like he's not even paying attention.”

Percival flushes, struggling against the drowsiness seeping through his body.  He's so heavy all of a sudden, so warm, and he can't make his mind work.

“Ch… check,” he manages, and O’Connell takes his turn with a muttered  _ “Finally.” _

By the time the round is over Percival is slumped in his chair, cards scattered across the table with his head lolling to the side and his eyes glassy.

On his left O’Connell reaches over and grips his chin, turning his head side to side as he lets out a confused little  _ “Uuh?” _ and blinks stupidly.

“Jesus fuck Burnett, what did you give him?”

“My own special mix,” Burnett says, rising.  “Sedative, aphrodisiac, threw in a little of that potion we confiscated from Marlow last week too.”  Burnett frowns for a moment.  “Not sure how it’ll mix with the whisky.” He shrugs, circling the table to stand behind Percival.  “Help me get the rest of it in him.”

Together they position Percival, O’Connell tipping his head back while Burnett picks up Percival’s glass.

“Open up, little faggot,” he instructs, and obediently Percival drops his jaw.

Burnett pours the rest of the drink down his throat, stroking to help him swallow each mouthful.  After the first couple he scrunches up his face and tries to turn away, but O’Connell holds him tight by the hair and Burnett squeezes at the hinge of his jaw to keep his mouth open.

Once the glass is empty Burnett pats his cheek, satisfied.  “That’s it, good boy.”

Percival looks up at him with big, round eyes, mouth still hanging open.

“Let’s get him up.”

Johnson and Morelli haul him up from the chair, half carrying and half dragging the semi-conscious boy to the bedroom.

“Fuck, he’s heavy,” Morelli mutters as they drop him on the bed.  Percival falls in a heap, bouncing slightly off the mattress, his movements sluggish and weak.

“How much of this is he gonna remember?” Johnson asks, frowning with concern.  “If it falls right out of his head it won’t be much of a lesson.”

“Oh, he’ll get the idea.  It’ll get real deep in his head, whatever we do to him like this.  He won’t be giving you a summary, but it’ll stay with him for a long, long time.”

“Good enough for me.”  Johnson wastes no more time before climbing on the bed above him, rolling him until he’s laying on his back.

“Get your shirt off kid, come on.”

Percival blinks up at him, brows creasing in confusion.

“You heard me, little bitch.  Take off your shirt.”

Slowly, clumsily, Percival lifts his hand from his side and lets it flop against his chest.  He looks up at the aurors above him and smiles.

He’s warm and floaty, body so heavy, and he doesn’t really want to move.  Moving is hard.  He hears laughter and he doesn’t understand what’s going on but it makes him smile anyway.  Laughing is good, right?  He made them laugh.  With Johnson’s encouragement he makes another attempt at his shirt, clumsy fingers fumbling with his collar and then tugging at it, before his arm gets too heavy and he lets it drop.  He looks up at Johnson to see if he did well enough.

“You’re just useless like this, aren’t you?”

Percival’s brow creases as Morelli props him up and slides in behind him.  It makes the world tilt and slide in the strangest way, everything breaking into a kaleidoscope of shapes and colors before it falls back into place, and he's glad for the solid body at his back giving him support.  He lets his head loll against his shoulder for a moment, dizzy, before trying again to raise his hand because he’s  _ not _ useless, but all he manages is to make it flop limply in his lap.

“Aw, you’re gonna make him cry.”

“Don’t worry baby,” Johnson says, patting his cheek.  “We already knew you were pathetic.”

_ “Ah…” _ Percival protests, but Johnson cuts him off.

“Shhh.  That’s why you’re here.  Did you think it was a secret that you’re a stupid little bitch?  We’re gonna take real good care of you, and you just do exactly what we say, sound good?”

Johnson helps him to nod and Percival feels better.  He feels all warm and flushed and fluttery inside when Johnson is pleased with him, and he thinks he’d probably like to do what he says if it made him happy.  And it’s okay, they already know he’s stupid.

...Is he stupid?  He can’t remember, but if Johnson said so it was probably true.  He’s lucky they’re here to take care of him, and he smiles up at them.

“Atta boy.  Now let’s get those fucking clothes off.”

Percival floats as they strip him, body loose and relaxed.  His skin tingles everywhere their hands touch him, lighting him up, and he would lean into it if he could.  He loses track of where his clothes go; first his vest and tie, his shoes, then his shirt.  The cool air of the room tickles.  O’Connell makes quick work of his belt buckle, and in one quick movement he tugs off his pants and underwear while Morelli holds him around the waist.

His legs fall open as Morelli pulls him further up on the bed, and Burnett whistles.  Percival is unabashedly on display for them, giving them a perfect view of his cock flopping against his thigh and his pink hole just barely tensing in the cool air.

“What’s wrong with him?” O’Connell asks, frowning.  “Thought you said you gave him an aphrodisiac.”

“It’s ‘cause he’s a fag,” Morelli says, reaching down to tug on Percival’s soft dick.

Burnett scowls.  “It’s because of the drugs.  Trust me, he’s still feelin’ real good.”

“Huh.”  Morelli pinches the head of his dick experimentally, and Percival makes a gurgly little moan.  “We should make it permanent.  Anyone know a spell?”

“I want him lucid when we do it,” Johnson says, eyes dark.  “We’ll get him nice and hard, then make him watch as his dick shrinks.  Make him say thank you.”

Snickers fill the room as Percival blinks up at them, finally figuring out what’s getting all the attention.  His head lolls onto his chest, gaze wandering down his body until he sees his dick, flaccid and limp in Morelli’s hand.

He giggles.

“Oh yeah, you like that?” Johnson asks.

Percival giggles again as Morelli bounces his dick in his hand.  His gaze is utterly empty, face slack.

Slowly Johnson sinks onto the bed, kneeling overtop of Percival, straddling him, crowding in close until they’re nearly touching.  With one hand Johnson grips his jaw, holding him in place.

“You’re feeling real good right now, aren’t you?”

“Aah,” Percival agrees, and Johnson helps him nod.  He does feel good, warm and relaxed and buoyant.  It's as though he's been bundled up in a blanket, insulated by a cocoon of fuzzy warmth between him and the rest of the world.  Nothing that happens outside matters when he can just float here and not have to worry about anything at all, everything diluted down so he doesn't have to think.

“Why don’t you say thank you to Burnett for making you such a good fag slut?”

Percival’s brow creases for a moment as he tries to figure out Johnson’s words, and then he smiles again.

“Yeah?  Good boy.”

Percival blinks, trying to focus on the men around him, but Johnson makes it easy for him and turns his head in Burnett’s direction.

“There you go, go on.”

“Ahhh,” Percival tries.  His tongue is heavy, too big in his mouth, and his lips won’t cooperate.  “Ahhk ‘ou.”

“Well that was pathetic.  We should teach you some manners, fag, can’t even say thanks.”  

Percival frowns at Johnson’s tone, a small, distressed sound escaping him at having made him unhappy.  It feels funny to make Johnson unhappy, and he doesn’t like it.  

“I know,” Johnson says slowly, as though it’s just occurred to him.  “Why don’t you try sucking his cock instead?”

Percival’s face scrunches up, confused.

“Yeah, I bet that would make him real happy.  Wouldn’t that make you happy, Burnett?”

“Real happy.”

“See?  He wants you to.  I bet even a dumb bitch like you can figure out how to suck a cock.  Give it a try.”

Before Percival even has a chance to agree the mattress is dipping and tilting as Burnett climbs on the bed, Johnson moving away.  There’s the clink of metal as Burnett undoes his belt buckle, kneeling up and pushing Percival’s shoulders down until his face is at the same level as Burnett’s crotch.  With one hand he takes out his cock, and Percival goes cross-eyed looking at it.

“You’re gonna take it nice and deep,” Burnett growls, voice low and gravelly.  “Fag like you should appreciate a nice big cock.”

Percival watches the dick in front of him, transfixed.  Even soft it’s big, sitting heavy in Burnett’s palm, and Percival’s mouth falls open.  He hears laughter somewhere off to the side and smiles at whatever the joke was.

Burnett smiles too.  He grins down at him as he twists a hand into his hair, using his grip to pull his head forward, and Percival is glad because it’s really hard to hold his head up on his own.  He pulls him in until that big cock is pressed to his cheek and Percival can  _ feel _ the warmth of it, before he uses it to slap the side of his face.  He giggles, and Burnett does it again.  There’s a cock hitting his face,  _ right _ in his face, and suddenly it’s the funniest thing that’s ever happened to him.

He feels giddy, flushed, and the slap of skin against skin reverberates through his mind.  He tries to lean in, angling his cheek towards Burnett, and he’s not very good at it but Burnett seems to like it all the same.

“You ready to thank me for doping you up all nice and sweet?”

He is, but he’s sort of forgotten what he was supposed to do.  He blinks dumbly, eyes still trying to focus on the cock in front of him - right in front of his face, he almost starts giggling again - when Burnett nudges the head between his lips.

Percival makes a wet sound around it, the tip of Burnett’s cock resting right on his tongue, when Burnett palms the back of his head.

“Go on kid, get it nice and wet.”

He gurgles, everything slipping out of focus as the cock fills his mouth.  If it seemed big in Burnett’s hand it's huge when it's inside him, filling him up as it starts to harden on his tongue.  He drools around it, saliva dripping down his chin as Burnett uses his grip in his hair to drag him up and down the shaft.  He groans as Percival makes little gulping noises, clearly unable to control the sounds coming out of his mouth.  His eyes have gone all glassy and vacant, and it's that expression as much as the wet heat that makes Burnett’s cock twitch in his mouth.

Morelli still holds him in his lap, squeezing and tugging on his little dick.  It fits so well in his hand when it’s soft, and the contrast between Burnett’s thick, stiff cock and Percival’s limp flesh isn’t lost on any of them - aside from Percival, too busy drooling around Burnett’s shaft to notice the snickers and mocking looks.

“That’s it, show me how a fag like you treats a cock - Oh  _ yeah.” _  Burnett’s voice is a low rumble, ending on a growl of satisfaction.

The blowjob is sloppy and uncoordinated, but Percival  _ tries. _  He struggles to make his tongue work, suckling and lapping at the head, obscene wet sounds filling the room.  It feels so good to do as he's told, to lick and suck around the thick cock in his mouth.  He feels a rush of warmth down his spine when Burnett pats his head and tells him, “Good boy.  Good  _ fucking _ boy.”

Percival makes a happy gurgle, smiling around Burnett’s cock.

“Oh, you like that?”  Burnett asks, rocking his hips forward.  “You like being a nice warm hole for me?”

Percival moans, and O’Connell swears.

“Looks at him, he fucking  _ loves _ it.”

“He's made for it,” Burnett grunts.  “Good little fag, made to have his throat fucked.”  His thrusts speed up, pulling Percival in until he gags before letting up for a moment, only to do it again.

Percival doesn't seem to mind.

Burnett doesn't give any warning when he comes, pulling him in close by the back of the neck and flooding his mouth.  Percival chokes, sputters, too weak to even try to pull away from Burnett’s grip.  Burnett groans as Percival’s throat milks him through his orgasm, wet and hot and perfect.

When he finally pulls out, wiping his cock on Percival’s cheek, and the shocked expression on the boy's face as thick come drips down his chin is enough to make Burnett want to fuck him all over again.

Percival sways, falling back heavily against Morelli’s chest.  His mouth hangs open as he drools come and saliva all over himself, eyes wide and unfocused, the gazes of all four aurors on him.  He makes a small, uncertain,  _ “Uh?” _

“What d’you think, kid?” Johnson asks, stepping forward to ruffle his hair.  “You like a nice big cock in your mouth?  You like being a wet hole?”

Percival blinks slowly, his gaze wandering until it eventually makes it up to Johnson’s face.

Johnson grins at him.  “Yeah?”

Percival’s face breaks into a wide smile.  

“Fucking hell, you really are a slut.  Turn him over,” he orders.  “This is what you’ve been waiting for, isn’t it kid?  Yeah, you’re gonna love it.”

Morelli lets him fall face down onto the bed.  They maneuver him roughly, rolling him fully onto his stomach while Johnson pushes his legs open to expose that little pink hole.

O’Connell takes Burnett’s place on the bed, hastily taking his cock out as he coaxes Percival into his lap.  Percival nuzzles into him, soft and pliant, mouth open and searching clumsily for cock.  He’s barely aware of what he’s doing, but it’s clear he wants something in his mouth.  O’Connell is all too happy to give it to him, moaning as Percival nurses and suckles on his cock.  

Johnson spreads him open, parting his ass and making the furl of muscle twitch and flutter.  Percival makes a small, meaningless noise at the feeling, and Johnson squeezes his ass.  He massages him firmly, his fingers digging into that plump flesh and making Percival moan so well.  His thumbs work further and further in, deep into the cleft of his ass and so close to that tight ring of muscle, so close but not enough.  Percival’s hips rock back into his hands, his body craving  _ more. _

“Yeah, you like showing me your little hole.  You slut, just waiting to be bent over and fucked.”

Johnson’s thumb finds that tight little pucker, and Percival moans around O’Connell’s cock as he massages the tender skin.  Johnson slowly coaxes it open, rubbing circles around the rim with a deep, even pressure that makes Percival squirm.  The muscle gives, relaxing and unfurling under Johnson’s touch in time with the deep heat spreading through Percival’s body.  He melts under it, spreading his legs wider to get more of the blissful touch as he presses back onto Johnson’s hand.  His hole tingles and throbs.  He can feel himself opening up and it’s so  _ good, _ it feels so right to be touched there.  It makes an ache build deep inside him, a heat that grows with evermore urgency, starting in his very center and expanding outward until it hollows him out and leaves a void only Johnson can fill and he needs, he needs, he  _ needs - _

The tip of Johnson’s thumb slips inside him, breaching him, and he wails.

“That's it, yeah - easy baby, you just let me inside.”

Johnson presses in slowly, just up to the first knuckle of his thumb.  Percival takes him so well, that needy hole of his tensing and twitching, welcoming him, trying to pull him in deeper.  He tugs experimentally against the rim, exposing just a peek of his red insides.  After a moment he pulls his thumb out, and the boy’s distressed whimper goes straight to his cock.  He pats his ass to quiet him while O’Connell strokes his flushed cheek, and with a quick word his fingers are dripping with lube.

He smears it over the waiting hole generously before pushing back inside with his index finger.  The press back in is slow but relentless, his finger gliding so easily until it’s buried to the hilt in Percival’s soft insides, opening up a space that he can’t wait to fill with his cock.  He’s velvety soft inside, tight and hot, and Johnson pumps his finger in and out as he lets himself savor it.

The brat better not dare look him in the eye after this - not after he spends the night as a little drugged out faggot whore and  _ loves it. _  He better not pretend his name means a damn thing when they all know what he is.  The rest of the world may bow and scrape for him, but after tonight he won't be anything more than a slut.  And he'll know it.

“Fucking  _ hell  _ Johnson, are you gonna fuck him or flirt with him all night?  You're not the only one who wants a turn.”

Johnson growls low in his throat, but he pushes a second finger in and speeds up his thrusts.  Percival is  _ writhing _ on the bed, hips rolling and swaying as Johnson massages his insides, his hole begging to be filled.  He stretches so easily on Johnson’s fingers, legs spread wide and opening up soft as butter.  He’s so relaxed.  There isn’t an ounce of tension in his flushed, needy body.  He's warm honey and ripe fruit and Johnson wants to press bruises into him, fill him up inside and feel his body give, all just to see the doped up smile on his face as he does it. Dosing him made him sweeter, but drugged or not only a faggot would love it this much.

With one hand he frees his trapped cock from where it strains against his pants, two fingers still buried inside that sweet ass.  It only takes a few quick strokes to bring himself fully hard, and he can’t help but groan in anticipation of feeling that tight heat milking his cock.

Percival makes a confused, hurt noise when the fingers pull out of him, so empty and achy inside.  His hole flutters and tenses, waiting to be filled,  _ needing _ to be stretched and used.  Johnson’s hand falls on his hip as he lines his cock up with that eager hole, blunt head pressing against the lax rim.  The muscle gives easily and Johnsons pushes inside him with one long, smooth thrust.

All the breath goes out of Percival in an instant, eyes rolling back as he drools around O’Connell’s cock.  Johnson is pressing against his insides just right, stirring him up inside as he starts to thrust and Percival presses back as best he can to get more of that big cock.  And then it touches something inside that makes his whole body jerk, limbs twitching on the bed as glorious warmth crashes through him and it’s unlike anything he’s ever felt.

Johnson grips his hips hard enough to bruise, the wet slap of flesh filling the room as he pounds into him.  Whenever he hits the angle just right it makes the boy sob and cry, and it makes Johnson want to fuck him harder.  Percival’s limp dick is leaking a thin, clear fluid onto the bed, his body overwhelmed with sensation.  Johnson is vaguely aware of O’Connell cursing and spilling over the boy’s face before his own thrusts become erratic, hard and punishing and deep before he finally stills, cock pulsing deep within his hole.

He grunts, letting that sweet hole milk the last drops of come out of him.  No sooner has his softening cock slipped free than Morelli grabs Percival under the arms, pulling him back into his lap and onto his already hard cock.

Percival makes a happy gurgle at being filled again so quickly, his dripping hole taking another cock easily.  Morelli locks him in place with arms around his stomach and torso, Percival pressed to his chest with his head lolling back on his shoulder, and thrusts up into him.  Percival bounces in his lap, giggling like an idiot as he rides him.  Johnson falls back on the bed to watch, momentarily sated but not wanting to miss a moment of the show.  

Percival is soft as a kitten in Morelli’s arms, so small and slender compared to his muscular build.  He is so young, not yet hardened by years in the field, skin soft and pale against that of the older, rougher men.  He looks as though he weighs nothing as he bounces on Morelli’s cock, exposed for the weak, vulnerable creature he is.  He’s made for this - made to be a wet hole, serving better men.  Johnson wishes the entire department could see him like this, dignity and ego and posturing stripped away until all that’s left is a whore.  They’d never see him as anything else.  They’d put him in his place.

And to think, he thought he could be one of them.

Come and drool drip obscenely onto his chest, his dick flopping as he’s fucked, eyes glassy and vacant with a wide smile on his lips as he moans.

He’s disgusting.

Morelli pants and groans as he comes, coating the boy’s insides with his release.  Come leaks down his thighs as soon as Morelli’s cock slips free, and the boy frowns.  It makes him look dumb, an impression only strengthened by the distressed little  _ “Ahh” _ that follows.

“You want something?” Johnson asks, voice low and gruff.

Percival looks like he’s trying to remember how words work, squirming helplessly in Morelli’s arms.  Burnett makes a move to take him, achingly hard again already, but Johnson holds up a hand to stop him.

“Come on, bitch.  I want to hear you say it.”

“Ohhh,” Percival tries again while Johnson waits, unimpressed.  “Ohh… M - mo’...”

“More what?”

Percival’s face scrunches up almost comically as he thinks, making frustrated little moans.  His gaze slips down to Johnson’s crotch before he blurts out, with surprising coherence, “Cock!”

_ “Fuck, _ that’s right you little slut,” Johnson says, and before he’s even finished the sentence Burnett has Percival on his back, spreading his thighs apart and practically folding him in half to get deep inside that needy, slutty hole.

Percival squeals in delight as the cock enters him, twitching uncontrollably under the onslaught of bliss being filled brings him.

Burnett fucks him like an animal, slamming into him with deep, punishing thrusts that ripple through his body.  It’s powerful and primal, as though Burnett were claiming the body beneath him to use and fuck as he likes.  Burnett looms overtop of him, his heavy bulk pressing him into the bed and making Percival look so small beneath him.

“We should keep him,” Morelli says, still just slightly out of breath.  “Make him a little pet fag.  He’d love it, fuck, he’d  _ beg _ for it.”

“Keep him in his place,” O’Connell growls.

“He’ll stay in his place,” Johnson says quietly, gaze fixed on the empty ecstacy written across Percival’s face.  “He’s nothing but a whore now.”

They pass him around, his body limp and flushed in their arms.  He looks nothing like MACUSA’s golden boy now - he looks like an embarrassment to the whole department, covered in come and drool with his slutty hole wide open and leaking - the kind of whore you'd find in a back alley, recently discarded and still crying to be used.  Johnson would never let a faggot in among their ranks, and this - this is why.  When they can do this to him, none of the rest of it matters.  His name, his money, whatever skill he thought he had is worthless when all he really wants to do is beg for cock.

By the time all of them are satisfied Percival is a fucked out mess.  He lies in a heap on the bed, his hole slippery and fluttering around nothing.  All that come starts to leak out of him, and that just won’t do.  With a lazy gesture Johnson conjures up a wide plug, big enough to open him even further and keep him nice and full.  It stretches his rim taut as it goes in, before popping into place and seating itself deep inside.  It looks obscene, but no more so than the rest of him.

With a quick wave of his hand and a muttered word Johnson cleans himself up.  He tucks himself back into his pants and smooths the wrinkles out of the otherwise crisp fabric of his shirt.  Running a hand over his hair, he slicks back any loose strands.  The other aurors are doing the same while Percival moans on the bed, looking weak and small.  Johnson looks down at him, a smile tugging at his lips.

“Well gents,” he drawls.  “We never did finish the card game.”

Burnett scoffs and shakes his head in amusement, reaching down to pat Percival’s hip. “What do we do with him?” 

Morelli, still in the process of buttoning up his pants, frowns. “How d’you mean?” 

Burnett shrugs. “Dunno. Drug won’t be long wearing off now - he could go wild when he wakes up.” 

“How long do you say?” Johnson asks with interest. 

“Twenty minutes or so, is my guess.” 

“Then let’s leave him this way. We’ll drive the point home once more when he wakes up. Fags like them always want another turn, anyway.” 

The others nod in agreement with his words. One by one they leave the bedside and head to the table again. Morelli fills up their drinks as Johnson - out of precaution - grips Percival’s small arms and lifts them above his head. 

The stench of sex rolling off the boy is disgusting. He wrinkles his nose, completing his task quickly. He leaves Percival with his wrists tied to the headboard; that way the boy will be unable to resist when he wakes up, not until he has satisfied them all again and fully understands his position. 

Smiling with satisfaction, Johnson joins the others at the table to resume the game. 


	3. Chapter 3

Percival’s body feels heavier than if he’d been turned to stone.  He can feel his heart working sluggishly to pump too-thick blood through his veins, and the entire world feels muted and distant.

Something… something’s wrong.  He’s cold, and the longer he lays there the more his body starts to ache.  Is he sick?  He tries to think back to the last thing he remembers, but his brain doesn’t seem to be working right - too muddled and slow, his thoughts slipping away almost as soon as they come to him.  It feels as though there’s a weight bearing down on his chest, and for a moment all he tries to do is breathe.

There’s a foul, bitter taste in his mouth, and he gags the moment he notices it.

His body convulses, shuddering as he struggles back to consciousness.  There’s something sticky drying on his face, his whole body feels disgusting, stale and filthy, and god, what  _ happened  _ to him?

“Aw, he’s awake.”

Percival tries to say something - to ask for help, to ask where he is or what happened, to even just find out who’s there - but it comes out as a whimper.

There’s laughter around him, more than just one voice, and the heaviness in his limbs is slowly replaced with the icy spread of fear.  With more strength and determination than he knew he had, he cracks open his eyes.

There’s a man looking down at him, blurry around the edges until Percival’s vision focuses.  He doesn’t know where he is or what’s going on, and he has a surge of fear until his brain catches up and he realizes it’s Johnson above him.

He rolls his head side to side and sees the rest of the Senior Aurors there too, standing around him.  The fear churning in his belly recedes.  There is no one else Percival would rather have at his back than the four of them.  They’re the best of the best, and the entire department, Percival included, looks up to them.  Whatever happened, it must be over.  If they’re here, he’s safe.

He looks back to Johnson and tries to reach for him, but his hands are trapped above his head.  He can feel the rope biting into his wrists, and he doesn’t understand why they’re just watching him.

“Help me,” he croaks, looking up into Johnson’s eyes.

Johnson smiles, and it is not kind.

“H - help -” Percival tries again.  He feels sick, dizzy, and so dangerously uncertain.

“God, this is priceless.”  Johnson’s looking at him, but somehow Percival knows he isn’t the one being spoken to.  “How are you feeling, Percival?” 

Percival’s head is spinning. He’s tired, so tired, and his body aches.  “S - sir -” 

“Ah, so now he decides to respect us.” 

‘I don’t -” Percival struggles to speak, his tongue heavy inside his mouth.  “I don't understand -” 

“That's fine. We’re not asking you to think.”

“You're not?”

“No.”

Johnson’s tone is final, dismissive, and Percival feels as though something has been decided for him.  The sense of safety he’d so briefly gained is slipping away with every passing moment and something starts to writhe inside him, dread curling in the pit of his stomach like slow poison.  His breathing is speeding up, chest rising and falling rapidly beneath the gazes of the four men.  He’s pinned there, on display, and he realizes with a dull sort of shock that he’s naked.

He wants to curl away and hide.  He wants to throw up.

“What happened?” he manages, voice barely above a whisper.  “Sir?”

Johnson kneels above him on the bed, and Percival feels like prey under his slow approach.  The auror looms over him, his grip firm and strong as he slides his hands up Percival’s bare arms.  His hands come to rest on Percival’s wrists, and for a moment he thinks Johnson is going to untie him.

He doesn’t.

“You’re the center of attention now.  That’s what you wanted, isn’t it?”

Percival stares up at him with wide eyes.  He tries to shake his head  _ no, _ but Johnson grips his chin and holds him in place.

“Don’t you fucking lie to me,” he growls.

And Percival - Percival can’t think.  He did.  He wanted them to notice him, just like every other rookie did.  He wanted  _ Johnson _ to notice him, to earn his praise and respect and to see the approving glance he so often directed at others turned towards him.  He’d felt so warm every time Johnson was in the room.

But not like this.

“Come on boy, we already know the truth.  Fags like you can’t help yourselves.”

Percival’s heart drops right out of his chest.  The noise he makes is small and pained, his mind going numb even as he feels tears pricking the corners of his eyes.   _ Does that make him a fag? _

“Tell me you want it.  Say it.”

“I want it,” he repeats, barely even aware he’s speaking.  He feels empty.  Hollow.

“Atta boy.”  All of a sudden Johnson’s weight leaves him, standing up from the bed and gesturing back to his naked body with one hand.  “You heard the lad.”

It’s all the invitation the other men need.  They’re on him in an instant, warm hands pressed to his heated skin and groping the most intimate parts of his body.  O’Connell’s nails dig into his nipples and Morelli cups his cock and balls while Burnett situates himself between Percival’s legs.  He’s helpless under their hands, exposed and utterly vulnerable as they play with his flesh, and his body can’t decide whether it feels sick or aroused at their touches.

But when Burnett lifts his thighs it makes something  _ shift _ inside him.  The foreign sensation is enough to shake him out of his numbness, making him yelp and try to jerk away, but there’s nowhere to go.  Burnett just spreads his thighs wide, looking at him down  _ there, _ and Percival can’t even see what it is that makes him feel so strange.  It’s like there’s something inside him, something - holding him open.  And the worst part is that it doesn’t even feel bad.  It’s strange, heavy inside him and a little uncomfortable, his body has adjusted to take it.

He’s still trying to decide how much that scares him when Burnett presses on it, making it rock against his insides, and he screams.  Pure pleasure explodes up his spine, connecting with the sensation of O’Connell and Morelli playing with his nipples and cock, lighting up every nerve ending and making him grind down into Burnett’s hand, onto that thing inside him before he even knows what he’s doing, searching for more, more,  _ more. _

“You think you can come from that?” Burnett’s deep voice asks, and all Percival can do is gasp  _ “Yes.” _

He doesn’t know what’s happening to him, he didn’t know he could feel like that.  Even as the initial burst of pleasure fades it leaves his feeling tingly inside, hips rolling to get pressure on that perfect spot again.  Everything else seems to fade in importance when the pleasure is so  _ close, _ his whole body aching with anticipation and need.

“Huh.”  Burnett shifts the thing inside him again, teasing, not enough.  “What d’you even need your dick for, if you can come just from having something shoved up your ass?”

Words stick in Percival’s throat.  He wants to protest, to say  _ something _ \- he wants them to know he’s not a fag.  But Burnett chooses that moment to press against his insides, setting off that almost violent cascade of sparks through his body, and suddenly he can’t think at all.  There’s warmth low in his belly, building and building the more they touch him, until all he feels is good.

He whines in frustration when it stops.  He’d been so  _ close _ and he rocks his hips up desperately, trying to rut into Morelli’s hand and grind down on the thing inside him all at once.  Morelli just laughs and takes his hand away.  Percival sobs, painfully hard and throbbing.

“I dunno boys, I liked him better all nice and limp down there.”

“Are you kidding?  He's begging like a whore for it now.”

“It just ain't right for a fag to be hard.”

“And it was fucking funny.”

Whatever the next response is, Percival misses it.  The wave of pleasure that crashes through him is too much, too strong, whiting out his vision and lighting his nerves on fire.  It burns through his mind and body until it's all that's left, every piece of him consumed by it.

When it finally starts to ebb he realizes he's trembling.  He feels wrung out, floaty and warm, his veins buzzing with contentment.  He squeezes around the thing in his ass, enjoying the aftershocks, and with the endorphins flooding his brain suddenly nothing seems so bad.  He's never come that hard before.  He'd never thought it was  _ possible  _ to come that hard.

“He's soft again, Morelli,” Burnett says from between his legs.  “You happy?”

“Fucking  _ Christ.” _

Percival’s mind struggles to catch up.  The way they’re talking about his body makes his stomach twist - like he isn’t even there, like they control him.  And here he is naked in front of them, Burnett just  _ got him off. _  He feels one of the man’s thick fingers tracing around his stretched out hole, and he shivers.  He’s on display for them, lewd and exposed, and there is nothing he can do.  He’s powerless.

Burnett grips the base of the plug and tugs, and it catches on his rim.  Percival bites back a whine, trying instinctively to roll away but met only with the hands of the other aurors, holding him down and pinning him in place.  Burnett tugs again, firm, stretching him open from the inside.  It’s so big.  Percival tenses on reflex, body barely under his control, and Burnett grunts in response.

“Easy, boy.”  Those big fingers are back, massaging his tender pink skin.  It feels good and strange and wrong all at once, and Percival doesn’t know what he wants anymore.  Everything is confused, and it’s easier to take the comfort offered by Burnett’s warm hands and deep voice than to try and make sense of what they’re doing to him.  He closes his eyes, burying his face in his shoulder to hide, but he doesn’t pull away.  “That’s it, good boy.  You just relax.  You’re not the first fag I’ve broken in, you’re in good hands.”

Burnett’s tone is sure and steady, the gravel of his voice sinking right into Percival’s bones and comforting him.  It's easier to take than Johnson’s dismissive mockery.  It's easier to take than the part of his mind screaming that this is wrong.  Burnett’s done this before.  He knows what he's doing.

Percival’s mind refuses to think the words for what  _ this  _ is.

His muscles relax, his thighs fall a little farther open, and with a wet squelch the plug slips free.

It is, perhaps, not actually the worst thing he has ever felt.  But in that moment, his body has never felt so  _ wrong. _  His hole is loose and sagging, the muscles fluttering weakly as it tries and fails to close up.  Something wet and warm rushes out of him, his insides are exposed, gaping open, but worse than that he's empty.  There's a void inside him, a space that wasn't there before, and all he knows is that he needs it filled  _ now. _

He writhes on the bed, body fighting the ropes and hands holding him down to chase the plug.

“Put it back!” he wails.  “Please, please I need it back, I - I can't - I don't -  _ please  _ -”

He didn't feel like this before Burnett took it out, his body didn't feel so foreign and empty and wet and he needs to not feel it anymore, he needs it to stop.  He needs to not have to think about it anymore.  Why is this happening to him?

What if - what if it doesn't stop?  What if they changed him somehow, and he'll always be empty inside and aching to be filled, craving to squeeze down around something thick and solid.  Maybe his body needs it now, and it will never ever stop.  Was that all it took?  He's been fucked and filled and now he can't go back?

Panic overcomes him at the thought.  He thrashes on the bed and sobs, choking on his own tears.  His breath comes short and rapid and his head is spinning, pounding, his chest collapsing in, he's not getting enough air - he can't breathe, why can't he breathe oh god -

There's a sharp crack and a sting across his cheek.  It stuns him, forcing him to gasp, but he doesn't realize what happened until Johnson slaps him hard across the other side of his face.

He looks up at the man above him, cheeks wet with tears.

“Help me sir,  _ please,  _ help me.”

“Don't you worry,” Burnett says, out of his field of vision.  “We'll sort you.”

Just like that he's being pulled up, his hands free from the headboard, guided until he falls into Burnett’s lap.  Johnson’s hand is firm on the back of his neck, and together they arrange him until he's straddling Burnett’s hips.

Percival doesn't care.  He just clings to the warm, solid body in front of him, buries his head in Burnett’s shoulder, and cries.  He can't help but moan as Burnett pushes thick fingers inside him, giving him something to squeeze around and filling up that empty space.  The relief of it makes him dizzy, even as it terrifies him to feel that way.

“What's wrong with him?” he hears O’Connell ask, and Morelli makes a grunt of agreement with the question.

“Nothing.”  Burnett pumps his fingers slowly in and out of Percival’s hole, steady and sure.  “He'll calm soon enough.  He's accepting his place.”

His tears dampen the fabric of Burnett’s shirt.  He doesn't want it to be true.  He shakes his head, still hiding against Burnett’s strong body, trembling slightly.

“Yeah, you are.”

“No, no, no,” Percival moans, but there’s no strength to his voice.  He can’t deny how they made him feel.  He came just from having something inside him, from feeling it stretch him and rub against that spot inside.  And before that - before he woke up on the bed -

The memories are hazy and disjointed, but the absolute bliss he felt is clear in his mind.

Maybe they're right.

“Please sir,” he says, voice breaking.  “I don't want to be a - a f - f -”

“You are a fag.  You can't hide, boy, we can see it on you.  You need to be held down and fucked.  Don't fight it.”

Percival fists his hands into the front of Burnett’s shirt, clinging to him.  There are hands all over him, Johnson and Burnett both holding him in place even though he isn't fighting anymore.  It makes him feel small.

“Just let it happen.  Fags like you don't need to think.”

These big, strong men hold him, controlling him, and he doesn't need to do anything at all.  He doesn't need to worry about anything, he can just feel their warm bodies against him, their heat against his naked skin.  He can feel Burnett’s cock pressing against his ass, digging into him with only a thin layer of fabric between them, and it makes him shiver.

He likes how strong they are.  He always has. He thought he wanted to be like them, to be one of them, but maybe… maybe this was what he wanted all along.

“That's it.  Now let's give that hungry, slutty hole of yours what it needs.”

Percival squeezes his eyes shut and nods.

Burnett reaches between them to free his cock, and Percival whines when the fingers leave his hole.  The ache is back, his hole flutters, but Burnett soothes him.  He's encouraged to rise up and he doesn't understand why until he feels the thick, blunt head of Burnett’s cock rubbing against him.  It catches on his rim, the tip slipping inside and it's not enough, he needs more he  _ needs - _

Burnett grips his hips and pulls him down onto that solid, thick length.  It fills him up so well and Percival sobs in relief, overwhelmed with how good it feels to sink down onto it and be filled up properly once again.  He rocks his hips to feel it inside, squeezing, and Burnett groans.

“Yeah, tighten up around me, come on.”

Burnett doesn’t wait for him.  He slams his hips up into Percival, hard, sending a tremor through his body and making him bounce in his lap.  Percival just clings to his shoulders and takes it.  He can't do anything else.

He's aware, distantly, of sounds around him.  It's hard to focus on anything but the hard cock pressing on his insides, but he can hear the other men talking about his body - about what a whore he is, how he mellowed out after all, just like a good fag should.  One of them is jerking off.  Maybe he should care more, but each of Burnett’s powerful thrusts shake the thoughts right out of his head.  He can't concentrate, and he doesn't want to.

It’s easy to just let it happen.  He rides Burnett as he grunts and grips his hips, fingers pressing bruises into his skin.  It makes Percival feel floaty.  Burnett urges him to tighten up, but it’s... difficult.  He keeps forgetting, body going soft and loose and lax as that hard cock pounds into him.  It’s so much easier to just get fucked than to try to remember things like keeping his hole tight, and he wants to do well but he also wants to just feel and let his mind drift.  They were right, he doesn’t need to think about anything.  He just needs to feel Burnett’s strong arms around him and his cock inside him.

Burnett says something to Johnson over Percival’s shoulder which he misses, too busy moaning and gasping to pay attention.  And then Burnett shifts, slowly laying back on the bed and drawing Percival with him until he’s laying against his chest, cheek resting on his shoulder.  The new angle makes Percival squirm as Burnett rolls his hips, and he snuggles down against the older man for comfort.  Burnett wraps an arm around his hips and twists his fingers into his hair, holding him close and keeping him still.  It feels intimate and secure, and Percival makes a contented hum.

Burnett chuckles.  “You’re gonna like this.”

As soon as he says it Percival feels Johnson’s hands on his hips, fingers digging into the crease of his thigh and dragging him just that much further back onto Burnett’s cock.  Johnson’s thumb presses against his stretched out rim, and the pressure has him keening and whimpering.

And then something else presses against him.  Something thick and blunt and wet at the tip and oh, god -

“It won’t fit!” Percival wails, there’s no way he can fit two cocks inside him, it isn’t possible, his body just can’t do that.  But even as he says it his rim starts to give.  Johnson presses his hips forward, unrelenting, and Percival mewls as he slips inside.  “Oh, oh - oh  _ please _ sir, please, oh god…”  He doesn’t know whether he’s trying to say  _ please yes _ or  _ please no, _ but he knows by now that it doesn’t matter.  Every nerve ending is alight with the drag of Johnson pushing inside, entering him inch by inch.  It’s all consuming, overwhelming; he can’t stop it, he can’t encourage it, all he can do is lie there and take it.  All he wants to do is take it.

The fabric of Burnett’s shirt is wet with Percival’s drool and tears but he doesn’t seem to care, jerking his hips and panting as Johnson’s cock grinds against his own.

Percival’s hole twitches involuntarily, making his eyes roll back and making both men groan.  He is so full.  He can’t help the string of whimpers and moans that fall from his lips, or how his hips rock to feel them inside.  He’s dizzy, disoriented, and a current of hot pleasure runs through it all.

When they start to thrust he thinks he might lose his mind.  They fuck him so well, so deep and thorough, and he just closes his eyes and feels.

They were right.  This is what he needs.  He doesn’t have to struggle or try to impress anyone, he can just let them make the decisions and feel so, so good.  If this is what it means to be a fag, then Percival doesn’t mind.  They know better than he does what he needs, he trusts them, he’ll do whatever they say.

It’s over much too soon.  He cries when they pull out, clinging to the warm bodies around him as their come trickles from his ass, only settling again when Morelli’s cock slips inside his hole and O’Connell joins him.

They pass him around, filling him up, and it feels so good.

By the time they’re done he’s exhausted, left fucked out and laying on the bed.  Their voices swirl around him and he begs until they put the plug back in, Johnson making it bigger to fill his sloppy hole.  They’re losing interest in him now that they’re satisfied, he can tell, and it makes him feel adrift and panicky, his blissful contentment starting to turn cold.

“Sir,” he mumbles, looking up at Johnson.  “Sir, please…”

He trusts them, they’ll take care of him, he knows it.  They showed him what he was and now he just wants to be cared for, he doesn’t know if he can do it alone.  He needs Johnson’s strength, his control, and everything will be fine.

Johnson looks down at him, eyes cold.

“You think he learned his lesson?” Morelli asks, and Johnson smiles.

“Oh, I think so.  How about it, boy?”  Johnson asks, addressing Percival.  “What are you?”

“A fag, sir,” Percival slurs.

“Yeah, I don’t think he’ll be any more trouble.  He’s nice and broken now, finally learned his place.”

Johnson turns as though to leave the bed, but with a small sound of distress Percival manages to catch his sleeve.  Johnson jerks his arm away, out of Percival’s weak grasp, but looks down at him all the same.

“Look at that, boys.  You ever seen such a slut?”

Percival swallows, his eyes damp but shining with something akin to hope.  His voice is tentative, fragile, as he asks, “Am I… am I y - your fag, sir?”

Johnson stares at him, face blank with surprise.  Then he laughs, short and harsh.  “You want to be owned?”

Percival nods desperately, face creasing as tears well up in his eyes once again.  “I’ll be a good fag for you, sir.  Please, I - I need you, please keep me.”

“Well, how could I say no to that.  So broken you don’t even  _ want _ to be a person anymore, do you?” he asks, and Percival shakes his head.  Johnson’s eyes are dark as he sits back down on the bed, leaning in close to Percival and wrapping a hand around his throat.  “Don’t you worry, I’ll keep you in your place.  You’re going to be a good, obedient whore for me, and I’ll use you like one.”

“Thank you sir,” he gasps, vision darkening around the edges as Johnson squeezes.  They’ve shown him what he is, they’ve  _ noticed  _ him, and it’s all he ever wanted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Final chapter coming some time this week! Please let me know if you're enjoying the story, comments make my day


	4. Chapter 4

Things get so much clearer after that.

Something changes in him after that night, as though a part of himself gave way - a dam broke, walls collapsed, and some secret, hidden piece of him saw light for the first time.  Looking back on it later, it was probably always there - growing quietly inside him, hidden where even Percival himself didn’t recognize it, and how could he?  It was the ache when he woke alone in the night.  The shame which made him look away from Johnson’s hands.  The empty sinking spiral in his gut, the thoughts he refused to think which told him something was missing, the way he got on easier with women because friendships with men  _ scared him. _

How could he have known it would ever lead to something good?

Their hostility evaporates overnight.  They tell him exactly what to do and he does it, it’s that simple.  He doesn’t need to struggle to impress them.  He doesn’t have to worry about what they think of him.  He knows.  Percival loves the attention they give him, he basks in it, feeling so sure and right in their presence; he’ll gladly be their toy if it means being noticed.

He wants to serve them any way he can, make them happy however he can.  He tries to help them with their work too - if he can help them research and prepare for a mission, aiding their success, he’ll be satisfied.  It’s not heroic or exciting, but he has the distant thought that might come later.  He has their attention now, if he’s deserving of more they’ll notice it.  He understands now that he’d gone about it all wrong before.  Perhaps he’ll never be like them, but he can be something.

When Johnson finds him researching for their next field mission he slaps the papers out of his hands.  They cascade to the floor, scraps of parchment fluttering to the ground with the ink still wet from his notes, their neat organization for naught.

“Sir?” Percival asks, his voice uncertain.  He doesn’t know what he did wrong.

“The fuck is this?” Johnson bends to pick up one of the papers, reading Percival’s carefully lettered annotations with a sneer.   _ “‘It is of note that this suspect has, on previous occasions, been seen in the company of -’ _ Bloody Merlin, what’s the point of this crap?”

“What’s all the fuss about?” O’Connell asks.  “The kid screw something else up?”

Percival glances to the side to see that the commotion has attracted the attention of Burnett and O’Connell, who apparently find Johnson’s raised voice a sufficient distraction to draw them from their work.

“Why don’t you explain it to us, boy.”  Johnson’s voice sounds suddenly kind, but his eyes are cold.  “What is all this?”

It’s a moment before Percival can speak.  The heavy gazes of the three aurors pin him, and he finds that he can move.  He just wanted to make them happy, he just - he didn’t know he was being bad.  His jaw works soundlessly.  “Research,” he manages finally.

“And why would an empty headed slut like you be doing research?”

When Percival speaks again his voice is a whisper, his words directed to the floor.  “To help.”

Johnson laughs in his face.  The sound is harsh, filling the workroom, and Percival feels it in his soul.  “We don’t need your help.  What did you think you were going to do that a real auror couldn’t?”

“Nothing sir,” Percival starts.  “I -”  _ I thought I was a real auror. _  But he doesn’t say it, can’t say it, not with Johnson and Burnett and O’Connell all looking at him like that, because they know  _ exactly _ what he is.

Johnson surges forward, grabbing him by the throat and squeezing out a yelp of surprise, his fingers digging into his neck and Percival doesn’t even try to fight.  “I thought we settled this.  Do you need another lesson?  What are you?”

“Your fag,” Percival answers automatically, the words strained beneath Johnson’s grip.

“And are you an auror?”

Percival gurgles - hesitates.

Johnson shakes him, hard, squeezing down until there are spots in his vision.  “For fuck’s sake, how could a fag be a damned auror?  You type, you file, and you get fucked.  Does that sound like an auror to you?”

Johnson doesn’t give him a chance to respond.  With a violent flick of his wand and a hiss of  _ “Incendio,” _ flames leap from the papers at their feet.  Johnson gives Percival just enough slack to watch as the edges of the parchment curl, brown, and turn to smoke.  The flames leap and dance as they spread through the pile looking for more to devour, flashing blue and green each time they encounter the ink from Percival’s quill.  In moments they flicker out, leaving only drifting grey ash in their wake.

The pressure at his throat returns, only this time Johnson drags him down; down until he’s kneeling in the shifting ash, face level with Johnson’s groin.  He lets himself be moved without protest.  His head pounds, everything is disjointed and fuzzy, his body complying by reflex in the absence of his thoughts.  At the same moment that Johnson releases his grip, Burnett fists a big hand into his hair from behind without so much as a word.

Somehow, despite the way his brain shut down, the way everything around him just seems to  _ happen _ without any actual cause or sequence, it makes him feel secure.

Johnson pinches his nose shut and Percival opens his mouth on instinct, only to find it filled with cock.  He doesn’t mind - if he could think he would probably decide he likes it - but he makes a little gulp of surprise.

As soon as Johnson has pushed inside Burnett uses his grip to drag Percival up and down the shaft, making him choke and sputter without a moment to catch his breath, the rhythm disorienting and too fast.  Percival takes it, thick saliva coating his chin.

He couldn’t say how long it lasts, but as soon as Johnson’s thrusts grow erratic he pulls out.  A moment later he comes hard, spilling white ropes across Percival’s face.  It catches in his eyelashes, lands on his cheeks, his lips, and he feels debauched.

Johnson cleans himself up and refastens his pants while Burnett strokes his hair and holds him by the nape of the neck.  Percival stays still.

“Don’t clean it up,” Johnson says, and returns to his desk.

Johnson’s lesson leaves no ambiguity.  Percival is never going to be an auror.  He can’t.  The knowledge stings at first - he was always supposed to be, he’d always pictured it.  But he finds, as time goes on, that he doesn’t mind.  Whenever his mind wanders to how he was going to be an auror he just thinks about how good it is to feel a cock inside him, and suddenly nothing seems quite so important as that.

He comes to await the weekly card games with eager anticipation, though they don’t play cards much anymore.  Instead, they play with him.  It’s so easy to let his mind float away and everything they do to him feels so good, his blood slow and thick like molasses as he suckles their cocks, his hole pulling them deep inside and begging to be filled.  His body knows exactly what to do.

He even loves it when they tie him to the headboard and tease him until he’s hard and aching, desperate words falling from his lips which would bargain his life away if only they would let him come -  _ “Please sir please I need it so bad, please let me come for you I’ll do anything, I - ah - ah!”  _ \- they work him up with a thick plug inside him, fingers slick with lube as they stroke and flick the head of his cock, rolling his balls and pinching his nipples until his whole body is caught in a feedback loop of arousal, nerve endings burning with too much sensation, the sweetest sort of torture.

He doesn’t notice that Morelli has pulled his wand until it’s already leveled at his groin, and even then all he can do is toss his head side to side as Burnett presses on his plug.

“You ready to be a proper fag, boy?” Morelli asks, and Percival whimpers, whines, and nods even though he doesn’t know what that means.  He’s ready to be anything they want him to be.

His balls ache so badly as he watches his dick wilt, arousal still thick in his blood but now with nowhere to go.  He cries as they fuck him into the mattress, and he can’t stop the little gasps of  _ “Thank you, thank you sir, thank you.” _

It isn’t long before he realizes he likes it - likes being reminded of what he is, and who he belongs to.

At first those are the only times they play with him; on Friday evenings and at MACUSA.  But then Morelli points out that since he’s such a mindless slut he probably doesn’t know how to take care of himself very well, so they take him home with them too.  He likes that better.  This way he’s always cared for, he never has to be alone, he knows when he’s doing the right thing because they tell him if he’s not.  He spends so much time with them and gets to know them all so well, it’s everything he ever hoped for.

He soaks in every drop of attention they spare him, hardly able to believe that after all this time they see him as something special.  If he were to think about it, he might have been surprised how easily he fell into his new role.  But as it is he doesn't have to worry.  The longer it goes on the easier it is, and the more sure he becomes that this is his place.

And they take every opportunity to treat him like the little fag he is.  He blushes and squirms when Johnson squeezes his ass as he passes through the bullpen, and follows O’Connell like an eager puppy to give him a blowjob after lunch.  They like to pull him aside after coming back from the field, uproarious and wild with adrenaline and needing somewhere to channel the rush of a successful mission.  Percival loves the unreserved strength they show in those moments, the sheer energy and power rolling off them, the way they laugh and make him feel weak as a kitten compared to their relentlessness and potency.  Percival loves to picture them in the field, thinking of them like lions with magic crackling through the air, unstoppable in their strength.  He doesn’t know of a single mission that hasn’t been a success, and he can’t imagine anything stopping their raw, unbridled power.  Even when they return bloody it only emphasizes their ferocity.

They come back exhausted after one such mission, damp from rain and smelling of dirt and smoke.  Morelli favors his right arm, Burnett sports a nasty burn down the side of his neck, but the atmosphere is one of hard fought victory.

Their return causes a commotion in the department and Percival rises along with everybody else to see them, though his heart flutters for a different reason then the rest.  They are the elite, their triumph something to aspire to. Once Percival would have felt a pang of envy and frustration at the recognition they receive, but now he knows he only needs to wait and their attention will turn to him.  Once they’ve had enough of the acclimation, it will be his turn to please them.

Today he doesn’t have to wait long.  Without a word to him Johnson grabs Percival by the scruff of the neck and a shiver runs through his body as he trots after them, nerves buzzing with excitement to make them happy after their success.  O’Connell runs a couple rookies out of the auror’s lounge with barely more than a look, Morelli slams and locks the door with a sweeping wave of his wand, and just like that they're alone.  Percival drops to his knees at the slightest prompting from Johnson with pressure on the back of his neck, sinking onto the thick carpet as his mind goes hazy.  Johnson brings the fire from a kindle to a roar, heat rolling into the room as they strip out of their wet overcoats and pass around the fire whiskey from the sideboard.

Percival kneels in the middle of it all, gaze dropped submissively to the floor, trying not to squirm with anticipation.  They'll tell him how they want him, he just has to be ready to obey.  He’s in awe of the men around him, just being in their presence makes heat pool low in his belly, and that now familiar haziness, like he’s stayed up too late on a too warm summer’s night and everything starts to fall a little bit outside reality, slips over him easily.

Johnson snaps his fingers, pointing down, and Percival follows the direction eagerly and without hesitation.  He drops his chest down to the floor at Johnson’s feet, arching his back to keep his ass high in the air the way he knows they like.  He's rewarded with a few chuckles above him that make him flush and squirm.  He wonders if they'll fuck him tonight.  He hopes so.  He can't wait to feel their big cocks inside him, knowing that they'll be rougher, and take him harder, after getting back from a mission.

“Get to it, boy.  You've got work to do.”

The reprimand brings him back to his task.  He settles down on the floor, body relaxing until all he feels is the plush carpet, the warmth of the fire, and their eyes on him.

Slowly, reverently, he presses a kiss to the hard leather of Johnson’s shoe.

Johnson makes an approving hum, so Percival continues.  He deepens the kiss, turning it wet and open-mouthed and suckling on the leather, flicking his tongue back and forth as though pleasing him.  The taste is strong, mixed with dirt and grit, but he loves how it makes him feel.

He teases that way for a few moments, flicking his tongue and giving quick little kitten licks that he moans around, showing Johnson how much he loves it.  

“Atta boy,” Johnson says, sighing in relaxation and leaning back in his chair.

Percival makes a small whine of happiness, teasing for a few moments more before he gets properly to work.  He presses his tongue flat to the leather, licking one long stroke up from the toe to the laces and wetting it with saliva.  He lets himself drool, following the smooth lines of the shoe as he licks again, up the side this time.  He tilts his head, knowing that Johnson likes to watch his face, but doesn't raise his own eyes from the floor to see if he's looking.  He doesn't know what he looks like as he cleans their shoes, but he knows it always makes Johnson grunt in satisfaction.  He intersperses it with adoring, worshipful kisses, as though he were kissing the ring of a king.  

He makes sure to treat it as the honor it is for a fag like him to serve a man like Johnson.  He takes his time working his tongue into every seam and crease, falling into a rhythm and making sure there isn’t a speck of dirt left.  They talk above him, recounting the highlights of the mission and laughing while they drink, but they’re not talking about him so he doesn’t need to think about it.  He just lets it flow through his head, enjoying their voices and their presence even without taking in their words.  The heat from the fire makes him dizzy.

He thoroughly and ardently cleans every trace of dirt from the shoe, and once it shines like obsidian in the firelight he presses one last kiss to the toe and drops his forehead to the floor while he waits for Johnson to inspect his work.

His heart beats fast, hoping he did well.  He thinks he did, he  _ tried, _ he even got that spot in the back near the sole that he misses sometimes, but he isn’t sure.  He needs to know, he wants so much to please them.

“Huh.  Not bad this time, fag,” Johnson says, and warmth floods through Percival’s veins like pure molten gold.

“Thank you,” he gasps, “Thank you sir -” he breaks off abruptly when Johnson nudges him with the toe of his newly shined shoe, encouraging him not to neglect the rest of his work.  Without further delay he kisses Johnson’s other shoe, settling into his task.  He’ll do the same for all of them, serving them each in turn as the night wears on.  He’s familiar with the pattern now, and it comforts him.  He can barely feel the grit in his mouth.

Morelli leans over to kick his legs further apart while he’s serving Burnett.  It forces him to arch his back more, the curve of his spine deepening and giving them a better view.  Morelli presses the toe of his shoe up into the useless flesh at Percival’s groin, and he whines.  The pressure on his balls hurts, aching sharply when Morelli prods him, but he doesn’t pull away; he has to be good, if they hurt him it’s because he needs it.

Morelli doesn’t acknowledge him, and Percival longs for his praise.  He grinds back against him, making the pain spike but also earning a chuckle.

“So fucking eager.”

“Desperate too, ever since we ruined his dick.”

“Oh,  _ yeah.   _ Mmm.”  Morelli makes an appreciative noise in his throat.  

Whenever Percival starts to get distraught at what they did, his body telling him he needs to get off when he just  _ can’t, _ hormones racing through his blood, he reminds himself how much Morelli likes it and he feels a little better.

He’d once told Percival to touch himself and watched for half an hour as he tried to get hard, achieving nothing even as he squeezed and stroked and teased the head until he cried.  Morelli just grinned like a shark the whole time, and once his useless dick was chafed and sore he’d let Percival suck him off.  Afterwards Percival had felt sort of hazy and light headed, but he was pretty sure he’d loved it.  

It makes him feel hot and squirmy to think that he’ll never be able to use his dick again; he’ll never be able to satisfy a woman, he’d be ashamed to try.  He deserves to be the one getting fucked.  Nothing else quite compares to feeling their cocks inside him.

And anyway, if they fuck him just right his dick leaks out a clear fluid and he gets shivers of pleasure that almost feels like coming.  It’s shorter and weaker and ends almost as soon as it starts, but it’s something.  O’Connell called it a fag orgasm.  Percival had cried the first time he realized that was all his body was capable of, but O’Connell reminded him that it was okay because in a few years he wouldn’t remember what a real orgasm felt like anyway.

Morelli nudges him again as he presses a worshipful kiss to Burnett’s shoe.  Morelli changes the angle, shifting his foot until it’s pressed against the underside of Percival’s groin, letting him rut against it.  He does, grinding back gratefully even though it’s only a shadow of pleasure.  It doesn’t set off sparks in his belly or send heat through his veins, but it still feels good to rub.

He works until the fire burns low and their shoes gleam.  He feels a soft sense of pride in his work, knowing that he pleased them, and the embers of it smolder in his belly.  He made them happy, he served his purpose, and now he’s content.  O’Connell reaches down to where Percival kneels at his feet and pets his hair.  Percival shivers.  Tingles bloom in his scalp and race down his spine, lighting him up with delight.  It feels luxurious.

Slowly, O’Connell’s fingers wind into his hair.  It hurts when his grip tightens but Percival knows it’s intended to guide, not to punish.  He accepts it gladly, following as O’Connell pulls him up and draws him in, in, until his nose is pressed against his groin.  Percival nuzzles it, grinning, and O’Connell grunts.  O’Connell isn’t hard but Percival can feel the bulge in his pants, and he loves it.  He squirms eagerly, mouthing at the fabric and longing for the taste of cock.  He wants to feel that hot, thick length, wants it to stretch his jaw and hold him open and to drool around it as it rests on his tongue, he’s ready, he’s  _ ready - _

“Easy boy, easy,” O’Connell says, and Percival whimpers between his legs.  He just wants to feel it inside.

“Fuck, that mouth is fucking filthy.  Don’t tell me you’re putting your cock in there,” Morelli says, disgust heavy in his voice.

O’Connell scowls.  “After he’s been eating dirt all night?  Of course I’m not using his mouth.  Doesn’t mean the fag can’t be useful.”

Percival makes a small noise, filled with disappointment and need.  He wants to be useful - he wants to be filled, his jaw aches for it.  But he understands.  He knows he’s filthy, saliva mixed with dirt drying around his mouth.  He sways, dazed, breathing in the scent of woodsmoke and tobacco, eyes so heavy that they slip shut as he follows the hand in his hair.

O’Connell nestles him in right against the crease of his thigh, tight against him so Percival can feel his body heat.  It’s good and comforting and Percival makes a tiny, appreciative sound.

“Good boy,” O’Connell murmurs, stroking rough fingers down the nape of his neck.  Percival hears a zipper.  “You just hold still and let me - ah,  _ yeah…” _  O’Connell takes himself in hand, adjusting until he can comfortably lay his cock and balls over Percival’s face.  He pulls Percival closer still, tilting his head and resting his balls on his cheek, his heavy cock on his closed eyes and forehead.  Percival’s mouth hangs open even though it’s empty, drooling all down the front of his crisp white shirt.  He breathes in O’Connell’s deep, musky scent and lays still.  

He’s content there for the rest of the night, cushioning O’Connell’s cock while they talk and drink and laugh.  Eventually he starts to doze, drifting lightly in and out of consciousness against O’Connell’s thigh.  The position is easy to hold, his body is loose and relaxed, and even when his knees start to cramp from kneeling on the floor so long he doesn’t mind.  Sometimes O’Connell pets him, and it’s all the reward he needs to feel that big hand in his hair.  It soothes him and only makes him feel even more sleepy and hazy.  After a while he isn’t quite sure which of his thoughts are dreams and which are real as he drifts, but it really doesn’t matter.

Eventually, unfortunately, O’Connell shifts.  Percival blinks back to wakefulness to find the other men standing and stretching while O’Connell looks down at him.  He cups Percival’s cheek with one hand, tilting his head and encouraging him to look up.  Percival does, his brown eyes wide and his head still foggy from sleep, shivering when he meets O’Connell’s gaze.  He feels the pad of a thumb brush against his lower lip, dragging it down, slippy against his wet mouth.

“Just swallow,” O’Connell says, and he presses the head of his cock past Percival’s lips to rest it on the tip of his tongue.  Percival knows what’s coming next.  He closes his lips around O’Connell’s cock but doesn’t suck, doesn’t lick, just making sure that nothing will spill.  He doesn’t want to think about what would happen if he made a mess all over his newly shined shoes.  He’d be so angry.  Percival just wants him to feel good.

O’Connell slides his fingers back into Percival’s hair, ruffling it affectionately as he releases his bladder.  Hot piss floods Percival’s mouth and he swallows it all, gulping quickly and keeping his chin tilted up so it flows more easily down his throat.

He doesn’t think anything at all.

When O’Connell has finished he wipes his cock clean on Percival’s cheek and stands up, leaving him to slump against the armchair.  The salty taste of piss lingers in his mouth and mixes unpleasantly with the grit between his teeth, but Percival knows he doesn’t mind.  He served his purpose, he served them, and even though his mouth feels gross the rest of him feels so  _ good, _ his body heavy and drowsy, sitting passive on the floor as he listens to the ends of conversations and the clink of glasses being moved away.

He doesn’t realize he drifted off again until he’s hauled up by his collar.  He tries clumsily to get his feet under him but only succeeds in toppling into the body next to him, grateful for the hand that tightens around his waist to keep him upright.

“Didn’t even get your clothes off and you’re still acting like a fucked out slut,” Johnson says.  He grips Percival’s chin, turning his head side to side to inspect him, taking in his slack face and glassy eyes.  “You’re a fucking mess.”

Percival moans, needy, trying to nuzzle in against Johnson’s chest.

“I said you’re a  _ fucking  _ mess.  Don’t go looking for that shit while you reek like piss.”

The noise Percival makes is small and hurt, and he shivers in the dark room.  The other men have gone, he realizes, it’s only the two of them left.  It must be Johnson’s turn to take him home.  He smells like fire whiskey and cigars mixed with the tang of blood and gunpowder, and it makes Percival want nothing more than to be pressed down into soft sheets with the weight of a body above him and a hard cock nudging its way inside.

He must have moaned again because Johnson’s palm connects with his cheek - without enough force to really hurt, but enough to sting and rouse him slightly.  “I’m ready to drop, boy, let’s go.  I’ll clean you out in the morning,” he huffs.  “Just don’t make me fucking stand here.”

That… that sounds nice.  Percival would like to rest.  He’d like Johnson to clean him up and touch him.

“It’s a good thing we know how to take care of a fag like you,” he says, and Percival makes a little noise of agreement.

He never even knew he needed all this.  He shivers to think he could have gone his whole life that way - empty and alone and not even knowing it, if they hadn’t made him see.  His gratitude to them has shaped his very core, cementing his place and his purpose, and his only regret is that he ever tried to fight it.  All his other plans, his ambitions, everything he thought he had to try to be seems unimportant compared to what they give him.  It’s so easy now, and for the first time in his life, he feels fulfilled.

Johnson half carries him out through MACUSA’s empty halls to the apparition point, and Percival follows his lead without question.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed seeing what becomes of poor Percival!
> 
> I _might_ do another chapter for this? If so, it would involve British auror Theseus Scamander joining Johnson and the boys on a case, and deciding he's not too sure he likes how they treat their pet. I'm going to mark it as complete for now because I don't know if/when it will actually get written, but if that's something you wanna see I'd love to know if there's interest.
> 
> Thanks for reading! Find me at [ mercurial-tenacity.tumblr.com ](http://mercurial-tenacity.tumblr.com/) :)


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